


Pie! Pie! Pie!

by jive



Series: Reaper76Week 2017 [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Attempt at Humor, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 03:45:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9366581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jive/pseuds/jive
Summary: A Grand Opening banner hangs over a store sign he has never seen before. In big, bold, red spooky letters reads the wordsPIE! PIE! PIE!and Jack can't help but snort out a laugh at how ridiculous that name is for a store.Day 2 of Reaper76Week: "In His Shoes" - a roleswapped version ofI've Got You in My Slice. (I'm not cheating, I swear.)





	

Bloomington, Indiana isn't exactly a small town by any means, but nevertheless rarely anything ever really happens there that would ever make news headlines. Forget national headlines, sometimes nothing ever happens that would even make local headlines. 

At least, that's how Jack Morrison feels. 

He knows he should be grateful, that no news is good news, especially in his line of work, but that doesn't exactly help his feeling that there must be more to life than living in dull peace and complacency like everyone else seems to be doing in this city.

It's just… when he decided to be a police officer, he thought there would be more to his day-to-day than filling out mindless paperwork and going on patrols where nothing of note ever happens. As awful as it sounds, some excitement every now and then wouldn't be unwelcome, you know?

The alarm buzzes loudly at 4:30am, and Jack grumbles and groans into his pillow, tugging the sheets over his head as his hand hovers over the clock. He's almost tempted to slam the snooze button, roll over, and sleep for another half hour, but his sense of responsibility wins out. Well, his sense of responsibility and his desire for his usual morning coffee and breakfast pastry, anyway. He hits the off button and groggily gets out of bed. His body runs on autopilot, and he doesn't even need to consciously think about fishing out a pair of clean boxer-briefs from his dresser before heading to the bathroom for his usual morning shower. He's showered, dressed, and out the door of his apartment by 5:00am, feeling no more awake than he was but a half hour ago. 

One of the many perks of moving into the city proper and out of his family's farm is that his apartment is within walking distance to everything, including the station, and the 24-hour diner where he usually gets his breakfast. 

At least, where he's  _ supposed _ to be getting his breakfast anyway. 

He can only look on, crestfallen, when he turns the corner and sees caution tape around the entire, burned-out husk of the diner that he remembers being intact not but 24 hours ago. Jack later learns that the cause of the fire was a grease fire that had gone out of control and not malicious arson by someone who wanted to thwart his morning routine, but in that moment he felt completely lost.

Now what was he going to do? 

The name of a certain fast food franchise pops into his mind immediately, but his stomach makes its protest pretty clear. Which leaves the coffee shop right near the station as his last resort. 

Frowning, Jack turns on his heel and heads straight for his new destination.

At least, before something catches his attention along the way.

A Grand Opening banner hangs over a store sign he has never seen before. In big, bold, red spooky letters reads the words  _ PIE! PIE! PIE! _ and Jack can't help but snort out a laugh at how ridiculous that name is for a store. 

“See something funny, officer?” comes a voice besides him.

Jack nearly jumps out of his skin in fright, not realizing anyone had been nearby.

“Oh, no,” he says a bit too quickly, “I was just admiring your sign is all.” Jack turns to the person who had been addressing him, and comes face-to-face with a rather tall, and very handsome man frowning at him as he leans against the chalkboard sign he had been setting up not a few seconds ago. The raw flour on the man's apron and the rest of his uniform makes it utterly obvious that this man is a baker, and Jack can only conclude that he works for the bakery.

“Likely story,” the baker says, looking utterly unimpressed as he runs a hand over his mouth and facial hair in what Jack can only assume is an appraising manner. “Anyway, there's not much point in admiring a store sign when anything that's worth looking at is inside.” The man jerks a thumb towards the propped-open door to the bakery, its insides fully lit up and more or less declaring the store's OPEN status. 

The smell of fresh bread, coffee, and other deliciously sweet pastries waft out of the store, and immediately awakens Jack's stomach. It growls loud enough to cut the awkward silence that had fallen between Jack and the baker, and Jack's face immediately flushes in embarrassment. 

The baker bursts out into a hearty chuckle, his laughs warm and rich to a point that sends a strange warmth blooming in Jack's chest, and brings a smile to his own face.

“Sounds like your stomach’s interested in seeing what we've got. What do you say, officer? Wanna check it out? I'll even throw in a free coffee for being our first customer,” the baker grins easily, his expression knowing, like the cat that knows it's about to catch the canary.

And what can Jack do but get caught? It isn't as if he had anything to lose anyway… and he'd be a fool to turn down free coffee, especially when the coffee shop he originally planned on going to charges an arm and a leg for a large coffee.

“Sure, why not?” Jack replies, shrugging. He follows the baker into the store, and is immediately blown away by the interior.

The bakery is filled to the brim with wares, breads, cakes, pastries, you name it. Countless baked goods line the shelves and the display cases. So many, in fact, that Jack almost suspects that he could name any random baked good and it could probably be found on the shelves.

“Feel free to look around while I get your coffee. I'll even give be nice and give you half off since I'm feeling so generous this morning,” the baker calls out as he goes behind the counter and heads to the oversized coffee machine. “How do you take it?”

“Three creams and five sugars,” Jack answers without a thought as he browses the shelf of various types and flavors of danishes. He pointedly ignores the slightly grossed-out look on the baker's face, no doubt in response to hearing just how sickeningly sweet Jack takes his coffee. “You sure your boss is gonna let you do that? I can't imagine they'd be all right with their employees giving food away without their permission,”

“Seeing as I'm the boss around here, yeah, I'm pretty sure I'd be okay with that,” the baker laughs.

“Oh, sorry!” Jack replies, rubbing the back of his neck as embarrassment begins to color his face. “I… I just didn't want you getting into trouble is all…” he finishes meekly as he grabs a tray and a set of tongs from the rack.

The baker shrugs, putting the lid on the coffee cup and turning to the register. “It's fine,” he shrugs, “'s rare for someone to care about stuff like that though. Didn't get much of that kind of hospitality back home.” 

“Well, it's kinda standard in these parts; we try our best to look out for one another,” Jack says, returning the shrug with his own.  He hands his tray over, exchanging it for the cup of hot coffee. He takes a sip, once again pointedly ignoring the stare the baker gives him.

Without a word, the baker goes to wrap his concha up into a paper bag, and hands it back to him before Jack can even finish a second sip of his coffee. He swallows the gulp quickly, reaching back into his pocket for his wallet.

“How much?” he asks.

“For you? Don't worry about it,” the baker shrugs, hefting the bag up as if urging Jack to take it.

“What? Why?” 

“As thanks.”

“For what?”

“Being my first customer.”

“Seriously? Are you sure?”

“Man, do you guys always ask so many questions when someone's trying to give you something, too?” the baker snaps a bit, clearly starting to get irritated. 

Jack opens his mouth to protest, only to immediately snap it back shut when the baker glares at him like he's about one second away from jamming the bread down Jack's throat to shut him up.

“Th-thanks,” Jack says quietly.

“Tell you what, you wanna pay me for the bread and coffee? Tell me what the J in Morrison, J. stands for, and we'll call it even. Okay, officer?” the baker smirks, pointing at Jack's name tag. 

“John, but everyone calls me Jack,” he answers.

“Well, Jack Morrison, it's nice to meet you. I'm Gabriel Reyes, owner of  _ Pie! Pie! Pie! _ ” the baker-  _ Gabriel _ holds out his hand and Jack shakes it firmly. 

“Nice to meet you,” Jack replies.

He's tempted to ask why Gabriel named the store that when there isn't a single pie in sight, but he figures that will be a question he can ask tomorrow.


End file.
